


talk less, smile more.

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcoholism, Bad Coping Skillz™, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> you want to get ahead? fools who run their mouths off</i>
</p>
<p><i>wind up dead. </i> </p>
<p>Rick dies in early January.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk less, smile more.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clueforlooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clueforlooks/gifts).



> for olivia because she asked for it

Snow falls and Morty drinks from a grubby old flask. 

The powder puffs drift around his head like a halo; he is an angel in the middle of a hell storm, blood seeps out from beneath his feet and stains the crisp white ground. It's quiet aside from the wind and his occasional sniff made in an attempt to not cry, don't cry, god damn it, don't cry.

Cemeteries used to intrigue him. Now, they make him run the other way, hands cupped over his ears and eyes squeezed shut so tight he swear that he may burst. 

Rick has died before - He'd dragged a Morty while Rick dragged another Rick, dumping them into shallow graves - He'd seen council Rick's be slaughtered, ripped apart at the throat, blood on his hands, on his shirt, on his face.

He'd seen bullets tear through them, make their bellies pop. 

Morty scratches at his reddened, chill-bitten cheeks, scrunching his nose. His mouth tastes like whiskey and he feels like a thousand cotton balls are stuffed into his cheeks. His Rick had died, shoving a hand into his face while barking out a desperate (at least, he'd hoped it was desperate, he so badly wanted it to be so that this final memory could be something that proved that he was cared about), "Morty, _move_." 

Alcohol burns the back of his throat, bubbles up in his stomach. He bends over, gagging, shoulders hunching up to his ears, and vomits onto the grave. Shaking fingers brush away the sick on his chin; he tries not to gag again as he wipes them on his jeans.

War wasn't beautiful like he'd been taught in history class. Birdperson had died because of it, Tammy with his blood as her lipstick, Squanchy had torn himself to pieces, fur flying, and Rick. 

Rick. 

Rick had died, hand shoved up in Morty's face to push him back, out of the way, far into a corner where maybe, just maybe he could save this last bit of his grandson. He'd barely fumbled for his gun, thumb on the hilt, finger on the trigger, ready to draw when the bug had struck first. Morty, move.

Morty, move.

Morty.

Morty, Morty, Morty and Rick one thousand years, M-

"-orty!" 

"Huh - what?" he snaps his head upwards, hand clutching the flask so hard his knuckles are turning bleached white. Summer looks concerned, her brow knit together, her frame shaking, maybe because it's cold or maybe because she's scared. 

Her hand peels his fingers away from the flask, "Have you been drinking Grandpa's old alien booze again?" She looks absolutely repulsed by him, rightfully so, as his face is rubbed raw from crying and drool and vomit are caked into the corners of his mouth. He sniffs, notices suddenly that he's crouched in the snow and that his pants are entirely soaked. 

"Come on," Summer says, voice chilled and quiet and so unlike the sister Morty wishes he could say he loves; she takes his arm to pull him up, lets him lean into her shoulder even though he's soaking and he smells. "You come here way too much. It's probably not healthy." 

All he can do is grunt in response. "Yeah," his sister says in agreement, "yeah." 

Their mother does not look when Summer comes in, Morty mumbling drunkenly to the floor about how there had been just so much blood Summer, I've seen blood before, and I didn't know there was _that_ much. Jerry doesn't look either, preoccupied with playing a game on his iPad, like he doesn't care what his children do. 

Did he ever? Morty racks his brain for the answer, but thinking makes him gag, and he coughs up more drool onto Summer's shoulder like baby. She makes a noise of disgust, but holds him tighter by the waist as she climbs the stairs slowly, as it takes every ounce of effort to balance her brother upon her hip and hold in her thoughts and walk and be alive all at once.

Rick would have laughed at her, a boney finger in her face, haha, Summer, suck it up, you're going nowhere but down from here and Morty would have laughed along, kept his hands close to his stomach and hoped that playing along would impress Rick - 

"M'gonna throw up 'gain." 

"Oh lord," they veer off the path to his bedroom as Summer sharply turns into the bathroom and pushes Morty to his knees by the toilet. He gags and gags but only more tears and snot come up and when he's done he looks at Summer with tired, sunken eyes.

She doesn't say it, but he looks like Rick - she doesn't say it, but the flask is burning a hole in her pocket - she doesn't say it, but she reaches out and brushes some hair out of Morty's face. What she does say is, "Let's skip school tomorrow." What she does say is, "but first you need some serious sleep, bro." 

"Just - blanket or or or orrr - grab me ssomethim, sleep i-i-i-i-in here." 

Pathetic, he would have said, rough and gritty and nudging Morty in his side with a sharp elbow or knee or hard fist, absolutely p-p-p-p-pathetic, am I seriously supposed to work - gonna train someone so absolutely weak? Drag yourself back to your room like you should, _Morty._

Summer brings him a pillow and a sheet; he sleeps curled up between the toilet and the bathtub, only waking when he thinks, for a moment, that he hears a familiar voice. 

And in the morning, when Summer nudges his side, he knocks his aching head against the bathtub, throws up again and asks, voice raw and tired as he holds his head in his shaking palm, "Can we go to the cemetery?"


End file.
